Coming Home From Lonely Places
by Elliotsmelliot
Summary: Desmond gets a visit from the Ghost of Christmases past, present and future.


Desmond lost sight of Claire just before the first explosion. Despite her earlier insistence that he was not to come near her or Aaron ever, as soon as the shooting broke out he had flown to her side and dragged her out of the clearing. When it appeared the attack was coming from all directions, they had been forced to abandon their flight and hide. So he had hastily tucked the mother and child in the space between two fallen trees, then crawled forward to cover their position. When he had heard the whine of a grenade coming toward them, he turned around to yell a warning only to find Claire gone.

The grenade struck a few metres to his left, sending up a pillar of dirt and debris that rained down around him. When it stopped, he rose onto his knees, kept his rifle primed, and scanned the area but Claire was nowhere to be seen. Had she run or been taken? His ears were still ringing from the first explosion so he didn't even notice the second one until he was thrown to the ground. Something heavy, possibly a tree branch, struck his face.

He lay there stunned, staring up at the stars, which he thought was peculiar because hadn't it just been daylight? Then the stars seemed to fall from the sky; one by one they burnt out with a soft popping sound, leaving him in total darkness. So this is it, he thought.

Having recently learned that there was no point resisting what was meant to be, he decided to meet death calmly. Relief, rather than regret, dominated his senses and Desmond was comforted by three ideas: first, there were no more choices to make, secondly, his responsibilities would be passed on to someone more suitable, and finally, there had to be answers waiting for him in the beyond. Fate owed him that at least.

Of course, he should have known nothing was that simple, especially here.

He awoke to an all too familiar beeping, a steady pulse which had once been so engrained that he could have disconnected the alarm and it wouldn't have mattered because he had become his own personal metronome. Within weeks of arriving on the island, his mind and body had become synchronized on hatch time, every thought and action measured in segments of one hundred and eight minutes.

Either it was happening again, the time travel, or he had, not surprisingly, missed the stairway to heaven. If it was the latter, then the devil should be congratulated for his brilliant sense of humour in designing this personalized hell. Why stick to traditional fire and brimstone when you can have Dharma initiative powdered eggs, Mama Cass and the ghost of Kelvin Inman to haunt your final resting place.

Desmond slid from the top bunk and ventured to look at his reflection in the mirror. He was dressed as he had been for the last few days which seemed to suggest he had not returned to relive his past. He leaned closer to examine his face, expecting to see something different, like a missing twinkle in his eyes, proof his soul was extinguished, or at the very least, evidence of whatever killed him. His head throbbed, almost in tempo with the beeping, but that was the only sign that he had been hit with something. If he was doomed to press a button for eternity, he guessed he should be grateful not to be dually burdened with a perpetually seeping facial wound.

A quick movement in the corner of the mirror caught his eye and he spun around.

"Hey Des."

"Jesus Christ!"

Charlie stood before him with his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels, looking satisfied at having made such an exciting entrance. His jaunty demeanour struck such a contrast to Desmond's final memory of him. Merriment and mischief, danced in his eyes, leaving no trace of the panic, resignation and acceptance he had last seen flash across them two days ago.

"Sorry, he's a bit busy today, what with all the lavish dinners and ornate displays of consumerism in his honour. You're stuck with me."

"Charlie." Desmond reached out a tentative finger to test the surreal image before him and when he felt flesh and bone, he pulled his friend into a great hug.

"Ah Des, I might not have to breath anymore but you don't have to remind me of that fact."

"Sorry, brother." He held Charlie for a second longer, then released his tight hold. "So that's it then, we're dead."

"You could say, I'm dead as a doornail," he paused, waiting for a reaction. "Get it?"

"A doornail?"

"As in 'Old Marley was as dead as a doornail'…." Charlie looked disappointed at Desmond's blank reaction. "It's the first sentence of _A Christmas Carol_!"

"Oh."

"I go to all this trouble and apparently that little knock on the head has made you daft. It's December 25. I'm your old dead friend come to tell you not to give up hope, show you life's worth living and all that jazz."

Desmond's eyes narrowed. "I'm not dead?"

"Well, if you want to make this all about you, then no, you're not."

Despite what he had thought before, that he was ready, Desmond couldn't help perk up at this revelation, but he was still confused. "Charlie, I don't understand. Is this a vision? What are we doing in the hatch?"

As people had a tendency to do around here, Charlie didn't answer, he simply flung open the door and said, "Don't you have a button to press?"

Desmond reluctantly followed Charlie into the lounge which he was surprised to find decorated with tiny white lights strung over the shelving. A pile of foil covered stars ready to be hung lay in the middle of the floor. Dean Martin poured from the speakers announcing his wish to let it snow. At the centre of the room, a figure dressed in a beige coverall stood hunched over the ping pong table, studying an incomplete jigsaw puzzle, humming along with the music, with a Santa hat perched on his head. Desmond didn't need to see the man's face; he would have recognized that cocky stance anywhere. Charlie had brought him back to his second Christmas in the hatch.

"Not exactly chestnuts roasting on an open fire but at least he's trying," Charlie commented.

As though he heard Charlie's voice, Kelvin turned their way. Even though he appeared blind to their presence, just feeling his heavy eyes pass over him sent a chill through Desmond's entire body.

"If this is where you pass me off to the Ghost of Christmas Past, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Just wait."

Over the music, Desmond heard the counter reset and watched as Kelvin casually pocketed a few of the puzzle pieces before climbing the step ladder to continue hanging the stars. A moment later the Desmond of 2003 entered the lounge, cradling a cup of tea, and wearing a matching coverall. He walked by Kelvin, seemingly oblivious to his partner as he was to the two observers from future.

Charlie nudged Desmond. "How embarrassing, you should have called ahead to see what Kelvin was wearing."

Desmond barely heard Charlie's wisecrack. He was too engrossed watching his past self sort through puzzle pieces. Desmond remembered this day well, if only because Christmas broke their routine. A week ago they had received their tri-monthly food drop off. Amid their regular supplies, the Dharma folk had included a frozen turkey, a Santa hat, a present for Swan employee number 1 (a paint-by-numbers kit of Van Gogh's Sunflowers), a present for Swan employee number 2 (a five thousand piece jigsaw puzzle of a cabin in a snowy woods), and a sprig of mistletoe, which Kelvin had insisted on hanging in the archway between the kitchen and the lounge.

"If you keep going at that rate, the puzzle will be finished before you know it," Kelvin lectured from the step ladder. "I'm only going to do a little painting each day, so I have something to look forward to. When it's done we could hang it over the couch, bring a little cheer into this room." He finished hanging the stars, then climbed down and approached Desmond. "Oh, c'mon Des, speak to me. Enough of this silent treatment… It's Christmas. The season of forgiveness." Desmond just continued to work on his puzzle, acting like he hadn't heard him.

Charlie whispered, even though it appeared no one knew they were there, "What did he do to deserve the cold shoulder?"

Desmond had to think for a moment because he had resorted to ignoring Kelvin on a number of occasions. Taking away Kelvin's audience was the only way Desmond had found to assert himself. One time he had stopped speaking to him for an entire month.

"He took off for a week without a word. I thought he had died."

"What happened?"

"He said he ran into some hostiles, they were all over our territory, and he had to hide because he didn't want to lead them back to me."

"That was nice of him."

"It was a lie. He knew he would be gone that long. When I later did inventory, I noticed he had taken rations for a week."

"So where'd he go, a booty call with Rousseau?"

"I never found out."

"So…" Charlie clapped his hands together. "Do you know why we're here?"

"Because you're mad at me?"

Charlie furrowed his brow. "Why would you think that?"

"I led you to your death. I convinced you that you were going to die, so you died."

"So you think that was just some self-fulfilling prophecy?"

"The helicopters came but Claire didn't get rescued. I don't even know where she is. It was all for nothing."

"Not nothing, I've now have these nifty powers to escort people through time and space."

"Charlie…"

"Des, if I'm not mistaken, you weren't the crazy one-eyed bastard who threw a grenade at me and I happen to know Claire is okay. If you could just do me the honour of figuring out why we're here, we could move on to better and brighter things."

Desmond surveyed the lounge. He remembered what happens next. Kelvin stomps off in a huff and gets drunk by himself in his bunk. Once alone, he turns up the music and spends the rest of his day completing his puzzle, save for the five missing pieces, which he now knew Kelvin had stolen. He also had enjoyed his turkey dinner with canned corn, instant potatoes and vanilla custard.

"We're here because you want me to appreciate the little things in life?"

"Well, no but that's good too. I want you to remember that as dismal as life was in the hatch, you didn't give up.

That was one perspective, Desmond thought. Another would be he didn't have the courage to stop pushing the button or choose Radzinsky's method of exit, but it wouldn't have been right to contradict Charlie who seemed pleased to be playing teacher. "Alright, Charlie," he said. "Lesson learned, now what?"

"Now we'll return to today. Ready?"

Desmond took one last look at his old self. "Ready."

The hatch disappeared and he was under the stars again, but not flat on his back. He and Charlie stood off to the side in an unfamiliar treed valley where a makeshift campsite had been set up for the night. It was drizzling and people huddled in groups under trees for protection. No fires were lit in fear of exposing their location. Desmond did a quick count, thankfully everyone he had been with before was here. Sawyer and Locke stood armed keeping watch. Claire was curled up with Aaron in her arms, lying asleep next to Hurley. Across from them, Jack and Kate squatted in the open, watching Sayid outline some sort of plan in the dirt with a stick.

Charlie surveyed the scene, his jubilance from before severely diminished. "Kind of makes your hatch Christmas look pretty damn good in comparison. No one here has visions of sugar plums dancing in their head."

"If it's any consolation, I don't think anyone realized the date."

Charlie left his side and mingled amongst his former camp mates, stepping over sleeping bodies and peering into their faces. "Here you are!" He waved Desmond over and there his body lay, unmoving, with a rather nasty gash across his forehead and left eye. Jin sat beside him while Sun dabbed his wound with a piece of cloth. Desmond crouched down to get a better look at himself.

"It probably looks worse than it is," Charlie said.

"They didn't leave me behind."

"You're obviously not familiar with Jack's live together, die alone spiel."

"It's just, I'm not anyone's favourite person right now."

"Folks a little peeved, you came back from the Looking Glass alone?"

"You could say that."

"Maybe they're saving you to feed to the monster."

"Likely."

"This might surprise you, but I wasn't always the martyr you've come to know and love. From one outsider to another, they'll eventually get over it. Someone will do something stupid tomorrow or the next day, probably Sawyer, and everyone will forget about the crazy Scot. It'll help if you don't go around telling everyone you hung out with my ghost."

Desmond stood up, articulating the thought which had been bothering him since Charlie first appeared. "Why did you come to me, Charlie? Why not Claire or Hurley?"

Charlie appeared to think this over before he responded. "To be honest, my first instinct was to visit Locke because he's really into this sort of thing. But then I thought he should have to work for it. I mean Boone got a sweathouse built first. I'm thinking more of a statue in my honour or a lovely beach front villa. Anyway, Hurley would just freak out and think he's gone crazy again. And Claire…" Charlie looked at the ground and kicked the dirt. "Well, let's just say I decided you needed this the most, plus who better to appreciate the literary merits of the whole Christmas haunting, even if you were a little slow on the pick up."

"So what now, I step back into my body and wake-up?"

"Not yet, I've saved the best for last. Don't you want to see a future Christmas?"

Desmond hesitated. "Look where seeing the future got us before."

"This is different. I know it's going to be really good."

Desmond thought about the possibilities. On the island but safe? Back in the UK but alone? Or could he hope for even more? His mind returned to the snowy cabin in the woods pictured on his puzzle. He remembered imagining himself inside the cabin with Penny, snuggled together on the couch in front of a roaring fire and an obscenely large Christmas tree in the corner. It was an image (always followed by much less innocent ones) that had gotten him through many a lonely night in the hatch and one he hadn't allowed himself to think of in ages.

"Okay."

"Excellent!" Charlie slapped him on the back, then grew solemn. "Wait here."

Charlie had yet to go near Claire but now he went to her and knelt at her side. It shortly became clear to Desmond that they had not come back here just for him. Charlie sat there for a while, just drinking in her image. Finally he whispered something in her ear and stroked her hair. In response, she rolled over, hugging Aaron to her. He kissed the top of the baby's head, then he stood and returned to Desmond with wet eyes. "Okay, let's go."

"Hey, we don't need to go anywhere."

"Yes, we do," he sighed.

Before he could protest, Desmond found himself once again looking up into a night sky, except this time the stars were obscured by tall buildings and falling snow. He and Charlie stood on a busy street corner, amid a swirl of hurried shoppers and commuters. Beside them a Salvation Army band played Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.

"Welcome home," Charlie said.

Home. The concept seemed as foreign to Desmond as living in a box under the ground once did. Home was where you were from or where you lived, and it didn't seem possible that this place could be either of those things for him again.

"It's a bit strange, isn't it, tossed back into a world where you can be sure up is up and down in down and no one's trying to kill you."

"So we all get off?"

"Those who want to."

"How?"

"Let's just say, after talking to me, Penny decides to get herself a boat."

"When? What's today's date?"

Charlie pretended to look around. "Hmmm, usually this is when a newspaper conveniently floats by informing the weary time travellers of their arrival date. I guess some things will have to remain a surprise." He took Desmond's arm and points to a crowd spilling out of a nearby underground station. "Check out that dapper gent coming out of the tube."

"It's me." Desmond shouldn't have been flabbergasted, given the scenario, but the image of his future self casually crossing the street, like he did this every day, took his breath away.

"Look, you still have a bounce in your step and all your hair and you didn't arrive by flying car. That should give you an indication of how much time has passed." Charlie grabbed his elbow. "C'mon let's see where he's going."

Desmond allowed Charlie to lead him through the streets. He was barely aware of his surroundings; he kept his eyes glued to the gray overcoat and red scarf of his doppelganger. He couldn't be sure but it looked like the other Desmond kept turning around, almost checking to see if he was being followed, a nervous habit perhaps, or a sign that he remembered coming here with Charlie and was trying to catch a glimpse of the past.

"Tsk tsk, looks like you're leaving your Christmas shopping until the last minute," Charlie said as they watched the future Desmond dart into a store. Desmond gasped when he recognized the antique shop where he had bought Penny's ring. He raced to the window and was relieved that the white haired woman was nowhere to be seen. He watched an elderly male clerk hand himself a small velvet box. Desmond opened it and held up a ring up to the light. He seemed to be inspecting an inscription, then nodded and handed it back to the clerk who proceeded to wrap it up.

Charlie looked over his shoulder. "Who do you think that's for? Mum? Sister? Hurley?"

Desmond didn't respond. He pressed his nose to the cold glass, watching his future self's every move. While he paid for his purchase, he pulled a phone out his pocket and began chatting to someone, a big smile on his face. He looked at his watch, appeared to agree to something, then hung up. He shook hands with the clerk, picked up his package and walked out of the store. Once on the street, he scanned the crowds, again seemingly looking for something or someone, but when nothing appeared to him, he continued on his way.

Charlie held his Desmond back from following. "This is it, Des. That's all I have for you."

He grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. "Is this real? Could it all just be a dream?"

"Could be. But then there's nothing wrong with dreaming or hoping."

"What do I do now?"

"Now you go back and keep going."

"And you?"

"Oh, I'll be around. There's plenty of demand for spirit guides on the island. Boone and Walt finally have some competition."

"It doesn't seem fair. Why you and not me?"

Charlie scratched his cheek. "I don't know, but I've made my peace, so should you."

"Charlie, I'm sorry..."

Suddenly shooting stars flooded his vision. Desmond opened his eyes to find Charlie and the London street gone. He was back on the island, lying in wet grass, with a splitting headache. Jin and Sun's worried faces hovered over him. He tried to sit up but Jin pushed him down.

"Desmond, stay still. I'm going to get Jack," Sun said, disappearing from his sight.

"Charlie?" he asked Jin, hoping that more than the last few hours had been a dream.

"Charlie." Jin shook his head and made a sad face.

Desmond closed his eyes, checking to see if he could propel himself back or forward but nothing happened. His trip with Charlie had felt as real as any day they had spent together. Had they really connected over space and time or was that all simply a product of his concussion combined with his guilt?

Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe the point was the same regardless of whom or what triggered the vision. Whatever had happened, Desmond decided, the future no longer felt as lonely. Maybe he could start to think of home as being somewhere other than here.

x x x


End file.
